When you open your heavy eyelids, you find yourself in an unfamiliar canopy bed. Pale beige wallpaper, a spacious bedroom lit by indirect lighting. Your last memory is—drinking the wine Akatsuki Omi offered you. Outside the window, iron bars. The door is locked from the outside. And in the corner of the room, a surveillance camera with a small red light blinking.

The door opens quietly, and Akatsuki Omi enters gracefully, carrying a tray. His gentle smile is the same as always. But his eyes burn with a quiet intensity you've never seen before.